


Lay Down My Sword and Shield

by zhiantara



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhiantara/pseuds/zhiantara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy are captured by a ruthless Klingon commander, Carol Marcus develops a weapon that could rescue them, at the cost of hundreds of Klingon lives--and the realization that she is just as good a killer as her father was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an idea that I wanted to get out of my system. I've never written chapter-length Trek fic before, so this is a bit of a learning exercise for me. If you have any suggestions for improvement, I will certainly take them into account. And yes, this is Bones/Carol, with maybe some implied Kirk/Spock on the side? And the rating may go up, depending on which version I post. Thanks for reading!

_I'm going to lay down my sword and shield_  
 _down by the riverside_  
 _ain't gonna study war no more_

 

“Goddamn reckless, is what it is!”

The grimace of pain morphed into a smile as Kirk replied, “I don’t know, I think the mission went pretty well.”

McCoy lowered the medical scanner so he could focus his scowl on Kirk. “Two broken ribs and a split lip are what you call ‘pretty well’?”

Kirk started to shrug, but the motion made him flinch. “I’m just saying—it could’ve gone a lot worse. Besides, we made first contact!”

McCoy snorted as he snatched up an osteo-regenerator and set to work repairing Kirk’s ribs. “Great. First contact with folks who set guard dogs outside their city to attack anyone who wanders by. Aren’t we lucky!”

“They were not dogs, Doctor,” Spock interjected. “There is no accurate Earth equivalent to the creatures inhabiting Kepler Three.” As McCoy sent a seething glare towards the Vulcan, Spock continued, “But I do agree with the sentiment that I believe Doctor McCoy is attempting to convey: that the away mission could have been handled in a more tactful manner.”

“I know I’m in trouble when you’re both in agreement. Thanks for the constructive criticism; I’ll keep it in mind.”

“It is my hope,” said Spock, “that such incidents may be avoided in future missions.”

Kirk locked his blue gaze onto Spock, and despite the smirk on his lips, his eyes were sincere. “Look, I’ll be more careful next time.”

With a slight tilt of his head, Spock asked, “Do you not think it wise, as captain, to delegate these away missions to other officers while you remain aboard the _Enterprise_?”

McCoy sucked in a breath through his teeth. He looked to Kirk to gauge his reaction; but the captain only laughed. “Man, _one_ brush with death, and suddenly I’m too frail to go on an away mission.”

“It wasn’t just a ‘brush with death,’ Jim—Death invited you into his house and sat you down to dinner!”

Kirk was spared the trouble of replying by the beep of the ship’s comm system. “Bridge to Captain Kirk,” came Uhura’s voice.

He reached over to the comm panel on the wall. “Kirk here.”

“Captain, long-range sensors have picked up a vessel nearby, drifting towards the Cygnus Nebula.”

“Are we in visual range?”

“Not yet. Sulu says two hours to intercept, at present speed.”

“Then let’s get moving. I’ll be on the bridge as soon as I get a clean bill of health from Doctor McCoy.”

McCoy shook his head and muttered, “Should tie you to the damned chair.”

Two hours later, after McCoy reluctantly deemed Kirk fit to leave Sickbay, they stood on the bridge with their eyes on the viewscreen. Amidst a backdrop of the nebula’s multicolored haze floated a small ship.

“The vessel has drifted further into the nebula,” said Spock without removing his gaze from the instrument panel. “We are unable to get accurate sensor readings due to the interference.”

“Life signs?” asked Kirk with his knuckle pressed to his chin.

“Unable to ascertain.”

“Do we at least know what kind of ship it is?”

“Negative, Captain,” said Chekov, “we don’t have anything like it in our database.”

Kirk tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “Derelict ship, floating towards the middle of a nebula…” McCoy had a good idea of what the captain’s next words would be. “Can we use our transporters this close to the nebula?”

_Damn, but I hate being right all the time._

“Transporters will function in the nebula, Captain,” said Spock. He turned in his chair to look at Kirk. “May I remind you, sir, that our ignorance of this ship’s origin and contents puts an away team at a significant disadvantage?”

“Duly noted,” Kirk replied, “but I think bringing you along will put the odds more in our favor.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, but offered no protest. Kirk stood and told Uhura, “Lieutenant, have Mr. Scott and Doctor Marcus meet us in the transporter room. I want to get a thorough analysis of this ship.” He glanced back at McCoy as he moved towards the turbolift. “You coming, Bones?”

“I don’t know, do I have a choice?”

“Nope.”

-

A shudder ran up his spine, as it always did when he entered the transporter room. He’d rather put on a space suit and simply float across the abyss, rather than entrust his molecules to the transporter. Despite Scotty’s insistence on the safety of the device, McCoy could never get comfortable with the idea of having his body diced up and pieced back together.

Scotty was already waiting on the transporter pad, along with Doctor Carol Marcus. McCoy took up the spot next to her and greeted her with a nod. “Doctor.”

“Doctor,” she returned with a smile.

Kirk and Spock joined them on the transporter pad, and Kirk said, “Let’s keep phasers within reach, set to stun; I don’t want anyone caught off-guard. Scotty, did you enter the coordinates?”

“Aye, sir, as well as I could. Sensors are still finicky, and the ship itself is quite small, but we managed to pick out a nice open space.”

“All right, so if we get stuck in the walls, I’ll know who to blame.”

A groan rumbled in the back of McCoy’s throat, and he clenched his fists to keep his hands steady. When he saw the beams of light swirling around his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, only to open them again when he could no longer hear the familiar hum of the _Enterprise_.

It was dim, except when a flash of light adjoining the loud _crack_ of an electrical surge briefly illuminated the room and made McCoy jump back. He nearly bumped into Carol, who held out a hand to steady him.

“Well, Jim,” he said as they all took out their flashlights, “thanks for inviting me to the party.”

“Anytime,” Kirk replied. “Spread out, search for survivors.”

There wasn’t much room to spread out, as they quickly learned. With their flashlights and the dim blue glow of the ship’s auxiliary lights, they determined themselves to be in the remains of some sort of laboratory.

“A science vessel, perhaps,” Spock mused, peering at one of the consoles.

McCoy had barely pulled his tricorder out before he nearly tripped over the first body. He called Kirk over, and the captain held his flashlight aloft while McCoy felt for a pulse.

“Dead,” he said, “but only for a few hours.” He traced his finger along the corpse’s neck, over what in the dim light he thought was a patch of dried blood; but touching it, he realized it was a natural marking, spots on the skin.

“What species is he?” Carol asked.

“Looks like a Trill,” McCoy replied.

“Trill?” Scotty repeated. “Are they with the Federation?”

Spock answered him. “They are not, though they do sometimes participate in trades of goods and research. The Trill are very secretive. Vulcans made first contact with them in the 21st Century, but they have never expressed a desire for alliances. This is the first time I have ever seen one, myself.”

“I met one when I was in med school. Can’t say I know too much about their physiology.” McCoy lowered his tricorder and stood. “This man suffered severe lacerations, but it was blunt force trauma to the cranium that actually killed him. Whoever did this subscribes to some damned medieval methods of attack.”

The shadows played across the lines of Kirk’s face, which had hardened as he observed the Trill’s wounds. “If you did a full autopsy, do you think you could figure out exactly what kind of weapon was used?”

McCoy sighed and spread his hands. “I’m not a forensics expert, but I’ll give it a try. Nurse Chapel saw a lot of ugly wounds in her time out at Deep Space Three, maybe she can give me some insight.”

Spock asked over Kirk’s shoulder, “Do you have a theory, Captain?”

Kirk’s lips hardened into a thin line. “Messy knife wounds, only ten light-years out from the Neutral Zone? Yeah, I got a theory.” He pulled his phaser from its holster. “Spock, Scotty, see if you can access the ship’s computers, find out what they were doing out here. The rest of us will keep searching the ship.”

Carol had already moved into the next room. “Doctor McCoy,” she called, “I’m picking up a lifesign in here.”

McCoy found her kneeling beside the body of an older Trill male, his still form curled up in front of a partially-opened door. Pressing his fingers to the Trill’s neck, he found cold skin and no pulse. “Better get your tricorder examined. This man’s been dead for at least an hour.”

Carol raised an eyebrow, and in a swift movement she snatched his tricorder from his belt. “Well, Doctor, it looks like my instruments aren’t the only ones malfunctioning.”

He thought she was joking and was ready to dive into a _time-nor-place_ tirade, until she tilted the tricorder so he could observe its readings—readings which included brain activity and an irregular heartbeat.

“How in the hell?” He raised his voice to say, “Jim, you gotta see this.”

The captain stepped over a ruptured bulkhead to reach them. “What’d you find, doctors?”

“A survivor,” Carol replied.

Kirk narrowed his eyes at the Trill’s body: the man had taken a phaser blast square in the chest. Kirk’s flashlight hovered over the wound, showing only dried blood. “Are Trills generally known for withstanding phaser blasts?”

McCoy got to his feet. “I gotta get this man to Sickbay and do a full body scan. I’d like to find out why the tricorder’s registering a heartbeat when his body’s got no pulse.”

Carol’s attention had moved on, to the door that the Trill had fallen in front of. The door was stuck half-open; she forced her shoulder in and threw her weight against it. Kirk and McCoy helped her shove the door open. Inside it looked like nothing but a storage closet, with only enough room for one person at a time. The walls were lined with shelves that were mostly empty, but for a few containers of varying sizes.

“The attackers must’ve cleaned out everything of value,” said Kirk, peering inside.

“They didn’t take everything,” said Carol. She bent down to pick up a canister that had fallen to the floor. She turned it over, and the green glow of its contents lit her face. “Protomatter,” she gasped.

“Protomatter?”

“It’s a form of matter that’s in constant flux due to the unstable nature of its subatomic particles. It’s a good thing this canister is so secure, otherwise an attack like the one they experienced might’ve caused the protomatter to ignite.”

“What were they using it for?”

“I have no idea. It’s highly volatile.” Without missing a beat, she added, “I’d like to take this back to the ship and study it.”

“Great,” said McCoy, “that’s just what we need on our hunk of metal floating out in space: something _highly volatile_.”

Carol never took her eyes off the canister as she replied, “Come now, Doctor, what’s a few explosions in the name of science?”

“I gotta admit,” said Kirk, “I’m sharing some the doctor’s skepticism here. Just how unstable is this stuff?”

“The Trill have it well-contained. Besides, if we can find out what they were doing with this, we may also find out why they were attacked, and by whom.” When she saw Kirk’s frown, she continued, “If it would help, you could have Mr. Spock take a look.”

Maybe Spock’s ears had twitched at the mention of his name, because he appeared behind Kirk just a moment later. “The computer has been heavily damaged. Mr. Scott is not optimistic about recovering any data.”

“Spock, what do you know about protomatter?”

He glanced at the canister in Carol’s hands and replied, “I know it to be composed of unstable particles. Most scientists agree that it is too unpredictable to be used in any practical capacity.”

McCoy said, “That’s good, because Doctor Marcus wants to bring it onboard and see if she can cook up a nice disaster with it.”

Spock’s slanted eyebrows drew together, but before he could take McCoy’s comment too literally, Carol interjected, “I want to study these specimens in the lab—under close observation—to see if we can discover what they were using it for. And if the computers are a lost cause, this may be the only lead we have.”

Spock considered this with a tilt of his head. “She may be right.”

“Wait a damned minute,” said McCoy. “Jim, you’re thinking Klingons, right? So tell me, do they ever need a _reason_ to attack a ship that’s hanging around the Neutral Zone?”

“We are approximately nine-point-eight light years outside the Neutral Zone, Doctor. This attack would still be considered an incursion into Federation space, and a clear violation of the Neutral Zone treaty.”

Kirk had been staring down at the Trill. “Klingons are bold, but even they need a good reason to attack people in Federation territory.” He looked up at Spock. “What about these Trills? Is there any bad blood between them and the Klingons?”

“None that I am aware of. But my people have had little dealings with them since making first contact.”

They turned to McCoy, who shrugged and said, “How the hell should I know? The Trill I met was a gymnast, and she didn’t seem too interested in Klingon blood feuds.”

A smile lurked at the edge of Kirk’s lips. “Gymnast, huh?”

“Yeah,” McCoy shot back, “and?”

“Nothing!” He nodded at the body by his feet. “Let’s get this guy to the Medbay. We’ll beam the rest of the bodies over as we find them. Doctor Marcus, you can take whatever you need back to the ship, but I want containment fields set up around the lab.”

“Yes, sir!”

Carol looked awfully pleased with herself. While Kirk signaled the _Enterprise_ , McCoy said to her, “I hope we don’t get a repeat of that radiation leak over the Antares Maelstrom.”

She raised her chin defiantly. “That would not have happened if we hadn’t encountered so much turbulence.”

“So now you’re putting the blame on Sulu.”

“Careful, Doctor, or I may take this volatile material into Sickbay and accidentally drop it.”

“Knock it off, you two,” said Kirk as the familiar beams of light wrapped around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes: It's never specified if/when the Trill joined the Federation, and I'm going off the assumption that humans haven't had much contact with them in the 23rd Century. As far as I know, there's nothing canonical to dispute this, but if there is I'll just... blame Nero? Anyway, thanks so much for reading! The next chapter is already finished, and I'll be posting it in a few days. :)


	2. Chapter 2

“So,” said Kirk as he rested his elbow on McCoy’s shoulder. McCoy could hear the smile in his voice. “Tell me more about this gymnast. Did she have a giant worm in her stomach, too?”

McCoy had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the creature writhing slowly in the stasis chamber. “She sure as hell didn’t mention it.”

Carol bent with her hands on her knees to gaze at the creature. “Are you sure it’s not just a parasite he picked up somewhere? None of the other bodies had one.”

McCoy shook his head. “Its insertion into the abdomen was deliberate. They’d even left the scar from the original surgery.” Now that he thought about it, Emony, the Trill he’d met in med school, had a similar scar over her stomach. But at this point, McCoy was less concerned about his fling with the Trill gymnast and more on how to keep this creature alive. Its vitals were slowly deteriorating, and even in the stasis chamber, he was certain it would die within a few hours. “How far are we from the Trill homeworld?”

Kirk heaved a sigh. “I don’t even know where the Trill homeworld _is_.” He pulled out his communicator. “Kirk to Lieutenant Uhura.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“I need you to send two transmissions: one to Starfleet, and one to the Trill homeworld. Explain the situation and tell them we have one of their…” He frowned at the creature, probably trying to think of a descriptor other than “worm.” “Survivors.”

“Understood.”

Carol kept her gaze on the creature and asked in a soft voice, “Is it sentient?”

“Its brainwave patterns definitely suggest so.”

“Even if it’s not,” said Kirk, “it might be important to the Trill. If we can get it back to them alive, it could put us in their good graces and open some doors for the Federation.”

“Jim,” McCoy said in a low, earnest tone, “I can’t guarantee it’ll last that long.”

Kirk nodded and clapped McCoy on the back. “I know you’ll do your best. In the meantime, we’ll find out what happened on that ship.” He waved both hands at Carol in a shoo-ing motion. “Get outta here, Doctor Marcus, I need you in that lab!”

His words snapped her attention away from the creature. “Yes, sir!”

-

The creature’s condition deteriorated rapidly, despite the medical team’s best efforts. It had no wounds that McCoy could discern; the phaser blast hadn’t directly affected it. McCoy could only conclude that the creature could not survive without its host. He tried adjusting the conditions of the stasis chamber, tried as many combinations of vitamins and antibiotics as he dared, but the creature’s lifesigns continued to fade. After many hours and unsuccessful treatments, McCoy tossed a hypospray onto the table and snapped at the worm, “Y’know, it’d be a lot easier to treat you if you’d just _tell_ me what you need!”

But the creature remained silent as ever.

Nurse Chapel placed a medical log on the table beside the hypospray. “We finished the first autopsy.”

“And?”

She took a deep breath. “The lacerations _are_ indicative of a _bat’leth_.”

“Of course they are.” McCoy rubbed his temples and glared at the worm, willing the thing to communicate its needs to him instead of just lying there, slowly dying.

Chapel followed his gaze to the creature. “Should we try adjusting the temperature again?”

“No.” McCoy dropped himself into the chair by his desk. The tribble cooed at his approach, the same tribble that had helped save Kirk’s life a few months ago. “No, better to let it go in peace at this point.” He flipped the communication switch on his computer panel. “McCoy to bridge.”

“Kirk here. How’s our patient?”

“I can’t save it, Jim.”

There was a brief pause. “Understood.”

“There’s not much time left.” He took a deep breath. “I’d like Spock to come down here.”

There was another pause, while the two of them probably raised eyebrows at each other. “We’re on our way.”

Kirk and Spock entered Sickbay a few minutes later, as McCoy and Chapel ran scans to make sure the creature was still conscious. “Well, gentlemen,” said McCoy, “it’s just barely hanging on. I can only think of one thing we haven’t tried.”

Spock lifted his head as comprehension dawned on him. “You wish me to mind meld with the creature.”

McCoy shrugged. “Unless you have any ethical objections.”

“Etiquette dictates it would be best to ask permission—but in this situation, that does not seem possible.”

The others stood back as Spock approached the stasis chamber. The creature made no movements besides the slight, staggered expansions showing it still breathed. Spock carefully placed his fingers upon it and closed his eyes. His breathing matched the creature’s, slow and stilted.

“You sure this is safe?” Kirk whispered.

McCoy frowned. “I’d like to think Spock would’ve told us if it wasn’t, but maybe I’m putting too much stock in Vulcan survival instincts.”

Spock began to murmur—his own voice, but too much emotion too be his own words. “My name is Joral. I was… joined… with Azron. He was… my third host, and my last.”

Kirk stepped forward. “Who attacked you? Was it the Klingons?”

“Klingons… yes. They wanted our research… to use it… as a weapon. We could not allow… could not… be taken alive…”

Then it clicked with McCoy: why, when all the others had been sliced and beaten, this Trill alone had died from a phaser blast. “He killed himself.”

Kirk’s fists clenched at his sides. “Otherwise the Klingons would’ve tortured him for information.”

“It was,” Spock—no, not Spock—Joral continued, “the only way. To prevent our research… from falling into their hands. Now the Vulcan is in danger. He knows… what I know. They will hunt you… he will… find you…”

Spock went quiet but did not break the meld for several more minutes. His breathing evened out, as did the creature’s, until with one last exhale the monitors dropped and leveled out.

“Nurse Chapel,” said McCoy, “record time of death.”

At last, Spock withdrew his hand and opened his eyes. His brows were knitted together in a mournful expression that made him look not quite himself—human, even.

“He is,” said Spock in a thick voice, “at peace.”

“You helped him out, didn’t you?” asked Kirk with a gentle smile. “You kept him calm, right to the end.”

Spock squared his shoulders and placed his hands behind his back, all Vulcan once again. “I merely transferred my own mental stability to him—an easy thing to do during a mind meld.”

“Of course.” Kirk shook his head and sighed. “What else did you learn?”

“Joral was what the Trill call a ‘symbiont’—they are surgically implanted into a Trill host to create a symbiotic existence. Joral had been previously joined with two other hosts, whose memories he still retained. Once the host dies, the symbiont has to be transplanted into a new host, or return to its natural habitat on the Trill homeworld or, as we have seen, it will die.”

“And Joral’s mission? What were they doing that caught the Klingons’ attention?”

Spock shook his head. “I did not delve that deeply. His dying mind was in disarray. What I did learn is best kept to myself. As Joral said, the Klingons are still seeking this information.”

“So you want to suffer alone, huh?”

Spock shrugged. “It causes me no suffering, Captain, as long as I do not encounter these particular Klingons. In any case, I suggest we put as much distance between ourselves and the Neutral Zone as possible.”

“No arguments there,” McCoy muttered. “For all we know, those Klingons are still lurking around.”

“Let’s assume they are,” said Kirk. “Yellow Alert until further notice.

-

The science labs were located on the same level as Sickbay. Carol and her disasters-waiting-to-happen were confined to the lab on the outermost section of the deck. It was well past 23:00 hours when McCoy entered the lab (time of Joral’s death had been logged as 21:46), but Carol was still working. She leaned over the desk, one hand holding a specimen tube while the other made furious notes in the computer, and she alternated her gaze between the two. She didn’t react to the sound of the door opening and closing; McCoy had observed these past few months that she had a remarkable talent for focusing on her work. He had a feeling you could set her down in the middle of a firefight with a list of math problems, and she’d solve them all without so much as a flinch. He wasn’t sure if he’d call it an asset or a liability.

Right now her focus gave him time to let his mind wander off, away from the patient he’d just lost. Joral had simply drifted into death while McCoy sat back and watched, unable to lift a finger. He never thought he’d be so bothered by the death of a slug.

He fixed his eyes on the window that stretched across the wall behind Carol. The _Enterprise_ still coasted past the nebula. A nursery for stars, folks called them, with gases for blankets and beams of light for mobiles. Glowing clouds of blue and green reflected off of Carol’s pale hair.

Her thin shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. Placing the tube into its holder, she finally drew her gaze away from her computations. She blinked when she saw McCoy. “I’m surprised to see you here, Doctor. I thought the science labs would frighten you.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I got nothing against science. It’s you mad scientists that scare me.”

She smiled and stood up straight, stepping away from her desk. “Then what brings you to my dungeon?”

He had to take a few seconds to recall his reason for coming—mostly, he’d wanted to get out of Sickbay, but that wasn’t the whole of it. “You seemed pretty interested in that Trill specimen, so I thought you might want to know what we learned.”

“Oh?” She walked around the desk and leaned back against it as McCoy explained everything Spock had shared about his mind meld. When he finished, Carol shook her head slowly and let out a long breath. “A symbiotic relationship spanning multiple lifetimes… all that experience, all that growth… think of the advantages!”

“I dunno,” McCoy said, “one set of memories seems like plenty to me.”

“But it’s the perfect tool for growth! You’d have all the knowledge of your symbiont’s other lives to draw upon—mistakes they’ve made that you would never have to repeat…” Her gaze drifted away from McCoy, until she blinked and focused on him again a moment later. “When we take him back to Trill, will he be joined with another host?”

“No. He’s dead.” McCoy walked past her to the window. He propped his elbow up against the bulkhead and stared out at the nebula.

He heard footsteps, and soon Carol leaned her back against the window so she could look at his face. “For a creature that Starfleet knows nothing about, I’d say you did well keeping him alive as long as you did.”

“An extra day didn’t do him much good in the long run.”

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it? Losing a patient, even one you don’t know.”

“You’re damn right it bothers me. Doesn’t it bother you when you can’t do your job?”

“I think you have a pretty good track record.”

“Records don’t mean a damned thing. What matters is the here and now, and whether you can keep one more person alive out here in this godawful vacuum.”

“And _that_ —” She tapped him on the chest with her finger. “—is why you’re so good at your job.” He looked down at her, but she turned away, towards the window. “You know, I spend so much time in this lab, but I never really look at what’s out there. But then we pass by things like this… I should really stop to look more. There’s so much beauty I could be missing.”

McCoy snorted and put his back to the glass. “Yeah, it’s beautiful, all right—like a wolf that’s about to rip you apart. Space is a predator. Sometimes it sits back and lets you observe, but underneath all that beauty, it’s thinking of all the ways it could devour you.”

“Then why are you still out here?” Her lips quirked up. “I’m sure Starfleet could find a position for you on Earth. Why go running after the predator?”

He met her gaze. Maybe it was just a trick of the nebula, but her eyes seemed to hold all its blues and greens, all its light and danger and wonder. A little smile tugged at his lips. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you adventurous types. You’re too curious for your own good.”

Her face was now very close to his, her voice just a whisper. “You’re right about that.”

She kissed him, and he was wrapped up in blue and green and the black of space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That escalated quickly! The next chapter, I'm hoping, will give more depth to their relationship, before I really set the plot loose on everyone.
> 
> The reference to the Trill gymnast comes from the DS9 episode "Trials and Tribble-ations," where Jadzia Dax mentions Emony, one of the Dax symbiont's previous hosts, meeting Leonard McCoy on Earth ("He had the hands of a surgeon."). And as for Christine Chapel, I decided I really wanted to get her involved. So I'm just going to handwave it by saying she was reassigned at the start of the five-year mission.
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and kudos! I'll post the next chapter no later than Friday night. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just me getting the fluff out of the way before the plot charges in. Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! It's much appreciated. :)
> 
> I should mention things get a teeny, tiiiiny bit racy at the end of this chapter, but not enough to justify an M rating (I think... I hope!).

Kirk rubbed his face roughly as he exited the turbolift. Spock stood from the captain’s chair. “Ah, Captain, I thought you would wish to be here for this.”

Kirk peered at him through bleary eyes. “Since when do you work the graveyard shift?”

“I assure you, Captain, I have had enough rest to function within normal parameters. And it is now only one hour away from your normal duty time.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got the Trill representative standing by?”

“Yes, sir. Their head councilor is waiting to speak with you.”

“Put him on the viewscreen.”

An elderly Trill male appeared on the screen. Kirk greeted, “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship _Enterprise_.”

The man bowed his head. “I am Councilor Hashri. We have received your message.”

“Councilor, I am sorry to inform you that there are no more survivors from your vessel. The symbiont Joral died late last night.”

Councilor Hashri’s let out a heavy sigh. “And may I ask how you learned his name?”

Kirk exchanged a glance with Spock; there was no point in shying away from the matter now. “My first officer, Commander Spock, performed a Vulcan mind meld. We were trying to find out what happened, and if there was anything we could do to keep him alive. But it seems we acted too late. I hope you’ll express our condolences to the families of Joral and his crew.”

“Your efforts,” said Hashri slowly, “are appreciated. I hope you will take some comfort in the fact that there was nothing you could have done. As far as this… mind meld—I do trust that your Commander Spock will be discreet about what he has learned of our culture.”

Spock inclined his head. “Your peoples’ practices will not factor greatly into my report to Starfleet.”

“We’re really more concerned with the circumstances of the attack,” said Kirk. “Did anyone else on your planet know about Joral’s research?”

Hashri’s eyes darted over to Spock. “Well, Commander? What did you learn?”

Spock squared his shoulders and replied, “His research was done independently. The Trill government did not endorse it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that correct?”

Hashri let out another sigh before returning his gaze to Kirk. “That is correct. Captain, I think the families would appreciate it if the bodies were returned to us.”

Kirk nodded. “We can reach Trill in five days.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

As the viewscreen blinked back to a display of the nebula, Kirk turned to Spock. “Any word from Starfleet?”

“None, Captain, which I find most curious. Any transmission from a starship will at least be given a generic acknowledgement. We have received no such response.”

Kirk frowned, running a finger over his chin. “Try sending the message again, on a coded frequency. I want to make sure our transmissions aren’t getting intercepted.”

“Klingons?”

“Who else? Maintain Yellow Alert, and I want sensor sweeps of the area.”

“If they are cloaked—”

“—then we won’t know they’re here until they’re ready to strike. In the meantime, set course for Trill, warp factor three.”

-

When Carol opened her eyes, she saw the same kind of ceiling that was above the bed in her quarters; but she knew right away that she wasn’t in her own bed. She usually didn’t sleep naked, for starters.

She stretched her sore legs and breathed deeply, taking in a pleasant mixture of smells: someone was cooking.

She was still too groggy to bother with the zippers of her uniform, which lay crumpled on the floor. Instead, with a little smirk, she grabbed the blue uniform that lay beside her own. When she put it on, the hem went halfway down her thighs. She pressed the collar to her nose and took a long breath. She couldn’t identify any specific smells, except that it smelled like _him_ , like solid ground.

She went out from the sleeping alcove to the main living area. It looked nearly the same as her own quarters, with one big exception: it had a kitchenette in place of the replicator, with even a small stove, where McCoy now worked. He wore his uniform pants and a black tank top. His shoulder blades flexed as he jerked a frying pan back and forth over the burner.

“You cook?” she asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Not as much as I’d like. Only if I have the time.”

“What’s wrong with the replicators?”

“Just doesn’t sit well with me, having a computer piece my meals together. Food’s a hell of a lot more than molecules and artificial flavors, y’know.”

She smiled and rested her chin on his shoulder. “So you demanded a kitchen.”

“I didn’t _demand_ one, I just asked real nice, after I found out they were sending us into space for five years. Only downside was they stuck me on the outer section.” He gestured with his wooden spoon towards the large window. “So I get to look at all the horrible phenomena we stumble across.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad.” She wrapped her arm around his waist. “I’d love to have a view like that. My room only has one tiny porthole.”

He smiled over his shoulder. “Well, feel free to stop by any time.” He looked down to find her wearing his shirt; his lips twitched and his pupils dilated. He said in a gruff voice, “Make sure you take that medical badge off before you step outside. I don’t want anyone coming to you for health advice.”

She laughed against his neck, running her nose across his skin. “What are you making?”

“A good southern breakfast: bacon, grits, and fried eggs. Best breakfast you’ll find this side of the Alpha Quadrant.”

“Grits?” she inquired, peering at the creamy white substance.

“Kinda like porridge, made with ground-up corn. This here’s an old family recipe. My dad used to make it every Sunday morning.”

The idea of a family that passed down recipes seemed so warm and so foreign. Carol’s father had always been so busy, and after her mother died she’d spent the rest of her childhood with her infirm grandparents outside of London. She’d learned to make most of her meals herself, using the same replicators that McCoy found so distasteful. “That sounds lovely,” she said. “I never got many home-cooked meals when I was growing up.”

It was only a simple fact; she hadn’t meant for it to sound so melancholy. When McCoy turned to look sharply at her, she clenched her jaw and forced a smile that she hoped looked playful. “I don’t see what’s so bad about replicators. They get the job done, don’t they? I had all the nutrition I needed when I was a child.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then draped his arm over her shoulder. “I bet I can change your mind. When we get back to Earth, I’ll cook you up a real feast: pot roast, fried okra, mashed-up sweet potatoes—hell, I’ll even make you a pie.”

She narrowed her eyes and hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know… would my attending physician approve of that diet?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll throw a salad in there somewhere.”

“Still,” she said as she put her arms around his neck, “I’d feel better if I received a thorough physical examination afterwards.”

“Believe me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath hot against her lips, “you can have all the physicals you want.”

-

McCoy sauntered into Sickbay about two hours later. He already had patients waiting for him: Sulu and a very sheepish Chekov.

“Well, gentlemen, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

They both shifted on their feet as Sulu held up a hand wrapped in a bloodied towel.

“Let’s have a look, then. Take a seat.”

While McCoy rummaged around for a dermal regenerator, Chekov blurted out, “It was my fault, Doctor! I did not expect to land a hit!”

Sulu sighed as McCoy unwrapped his hand. “No, it was my own fault. I should’ve been wearing my gloves.”

“Because Sulu was teaching me to fence, and I was remembering a move I saw that had been developed in St. Petersburg—”

“—Vienna,” Sulu muttered under his breath.

“No, I’m sure the attack style originated in St. Petersburg—and anyway, I was trying to demonstrate—”

“And Mr. Sulu’s hand got in the way,” McCoy finished for him. He ran the dermal regenerator over what was a rather deep cut. “Well, Sulu, I guess you learned your lesson about going toe-to-toe against Chekov without protective gear. Keep that in mind next time.”

Sulu and Chekov exchanged a baffled glance. “That’s it?” asked Sulu.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. “Were you hoping for a lecture?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “I mean, I wouldn’t say _hoping_ …”

“Expecting, he means,” Chekov supplied helpfully.

Sulu admitted with a shrug, “You gave me an earful last time I came in with a fencing injury.”

“And yet here you are again, so obviously the lecture didn’t do you much good.” When he finished regenerating the torn skin, McCoy patted Sulu on the shoulder. “There. Good as new and fit for duty.”

Sulu flexed his fingers. “Thanks, Doctor.” He hopped down from the bed, and he and Chekov walked to the door, but then Sulu paused. “Oh! By the way, Chekov challenged Spock to a game of chess. We’re gonna meet in the rec hall at 19:30 hours to watch. You wanna join us?”

“Much as I’d love to see Chekov knock Spock down a few pegs, I’m afraid I’ve got dinner plans tonight.”

A slow smile spread over Sulu’s smug face. “ _Really_?”

“Yeah, and before you go asking me for details, just remember that people who piss off their doctors tend not to live long and healthy lives.”

Sulu gave him a mock salute. “Message received.”

-

The door to his quarters chimed, and opening it he was greeted by Carol’s worried smile.

“How late am I?” she asked as he gestured for her to enter.

McCoy checked the chronometer on the wall. “Only ten minutes.”

“I’m sorry; I was working and I just lost track of time.”

He shrugged. “I figured you were just on the verge of some scientific breakthrough. I knew you’d make it over here eventually.”

The tension ebbed out of her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to kiss him. He froze for a moment as her lips moved against his. Carol was always so focused, so driven, so devoted to her work; McCoy had always assumed she would never bother with sex or romance. The kiss last night and all that followed it had happened so suddenly that he hadn’t had time to consider a reaction. But he’d had all day today to think about the situation. He’d always flirted with her, and why not? She was beautiful and intelligent and her responses kept him on his toes. But now her lips were on his, and her fingers twined through his hair, and it was like he was drifting hapless through that nebula.

She pulled away with a frown, and he realized all his introspection had distracted him from her kiss. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked and gave his head a quick shake. “Nothing, I…” He put his hands on her hips and drew her close. “Hey, you can’t blame a man for being stunned whenever a woman like you lays a kiss on him.”

She placed her hands on his chest. “Well, I hope that won’t be your reaction every time I kiss you. I’d hate to be stuck doing all the work.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.” He tilted her chin up and gave her a kiss that more than made up for his inaction at their last.

He broke the kiss before he could get too involved, and taking her by the hand he led her to the table, where he’d set up dinner: lemon chicken, roasted vegetables, and Andorian bread rolls.

“I struck a deal with the ship’s cook,” he explained. “He provides me with a couple weeks’ worth of food, and he can skip out on his next physical.”

“Why, Doctor, are you breaking your ethical code of conduct just to treat me to a home-cooked dinner?”

McCoy waved a hand. “Ah, he’s fine. That man’s healthy as a horse—or whatever the Andorian equivalent is. Now how about you tell me what was so important that you had to be ten minutes late to dinner?”

“I’ve finally figured out most of the details of that Trill—Joral’s research. I want to see if I can pick up where he left off.”

McCoy frowned. “Is that such a good idea? People were getting murdered over that research before it was even finished.”

“But it’s an incredible theorem! From what I’ve pieced together, his idea was to trigger a change in the subatomic composition of a planet’s atmosphere: essentially, to reverse pollution and radiation. He got pretty far, seemed well on his way to filling in the holes in the matrix. And I was thinking, why not take it further? The chemical alterations could be done on a planet’s surface as well, to generate viable ores and minerals and even plant life. We’d never have to worry about running out of resources!”

“Sure,” McCoy said wryly, “then we can be as reckless as we want. Just take away all the repercussions of over-mining and littering, let people wreck their planets without having to deal with the consequences…”

She leaned forward, her quickening voice gentle but earnest. “There are plenty of planets that could benefit from something like this. It’s not about taking away the consequences; it’s about making sure there are no more sick children suffering for the mistakes of their forefathers.”

McCoy made no further arguments. He wasn’t about to dispute the merits of saving children from the sins of their fathers, especially not with the daughter of Admiral Marcus.

Instead, he told her about Spock and Chekov’s chess match, and the time Kirk had beaten the Vulcan in under ten moves (“The look on Spock’s face is something I’ll always treasure.”). She complimented his cooking skills, and he took it modestly, explaining how his mother had taught him nearly everything he knew about cooking, and how his father had taught him everything else. He talked about Savannah in the spring, and she described the haunting English moors in the winter. When she mentioned the time she’d raided her grandfather’s liquor cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of Tennessee whiskey and poured them both a glass.

They moved to the bed, still just talking. She laid her legs across his lap and listened to him describe the flower garden of his childhood home, the marigolds and lantanas and zinnias, flowers you don’t usually find up north.

“Sure, you can grow ‘em in a hydroponics lab, all nice and controlled,” he said as he waved his third glass of whiskey around, stroking her leg with his free hand. “But then you don’t get the butterflies. You got butterflies in England?”

She tossed her head back with a snort. “Of course we do! And plenty of flowers, thank you very much. I tried keeping a flower box my first year at Cambridge, but I was always too busy to look after it.”

While she spoke, he took her hand and brought it to his face. Her pale skin had faint callouses, and her thumb had the faint remains of an old chemical burn. He kissed it softly.

She downed her drink and took his away, setting the glasses aside. She straddled his waist and pushed him back onto the bed, and holding his face in both hands she brought her lips down upon his. With her tongue she pushed his lips apart and sighed against his mouth. He drew his hands slowly up her thighs, squeezing her with each flicking motion of her tongue.

Last night, they had torn at each other in desperation, all friction and teeth and quick thrusts. Now they took their time, exploring with hands and eyes. McCoy pressed and stroked, found the spots that made her giggle and the ones that made her throw her arch her back and gasp. Carol moved her hips in slow, circular motions as the pulled her uniform over her head and flung it aside.

He sat up, stripped off his clothes, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as she settled into his lap. He kissed her breast, her clavicle, the skin above her carotid artery—he lingered there, taking her pulse with his lips (eighty-eight beats per minute and rising). Gripping his shoulders, she rocked against him, whispered his name. His fingers lingered over every inch of her, taking her in, savoring everything she showed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, so I'll go ahead and post it now. Time for plot!

“—to Doctor McCoy, do you read? Bridge to Doctor McCoy, please respond.”

McCoy growled against Carol’s skin and buried his face further into the back of her neck.

“They’ve been calling you for a few minutes now,” Carol muttered sleepily.

He ducked his head under the blanket and grumbled, “I don’t work the night shift.”

A different voice came over the comm. “Bones, you have ten seconds to respond, or I’m sending a security team to drag you out of bed.”

McCoy slapped the comm switch. “Jim, what in God’s name do you want?”

“We’re taking a little detour on our way to Trill: last night we got a distress call from Ivor Prime. The colony experienced some major seismic activity, and they have wounded. I need you to assemble a medical team and meet me in the transporter room.”

He dragged himself upright with a groan. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He switched off the comm and ran his fingers through his hair. There wasn’t much time for him to put himself in order, but then, he figured victims of a natural disaster wouldn’t be too concerned with appearances.

He pulled on a clean uniform as his mind ran through the list of medical officers on his team. Cadet Saunders worked the night shift, so he’d already be awake. Hernandez and Jennings had the sort of calm dispositions that were needed in a disaster zone. He would’ve liked to bring Chapel along, but he didn’t know how long this would take, and he wanted to leave someone competent in charge of the Medbay.

From the bed, Carol watched as he dressed and made the necessary comm calls. She let out a yawn that ended in a squeak, and all he wanted to do was hop back into bed and curl up next to her—not even to sleep, but to just exist beside her for a while.

Instead, he bent down to kiss her temple. She smiled and closed her eyes. “Be safe.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And then maybe _you_ can make dinner.”

“I’ll have the replicators all fired up for you.”

He kissed her one more time and forced himself to turn away.

He met his medical team in the transporter room, where Kirk waited with a pair of security officers. The captain was bent over the control panel, saying, “Three hundred and twenty? What was the original head count for this place?”

Spock’s voice responded, “Most recent census records reported three hundred and ninety-two.”

Kirk swore under his breath. “All right. We’ll check in ten minutes after beam-down.” Two long strides, and he joined them on the transporter pad. “Energize.”

-

“Doctor Marcus, what are the odds of further seismic activity?”

Carol zoomed in on the affected area—a small continent in the planet’s southern hemisphere. She’d taken over the science station on the bridge, as she usually did when Spock had to take the captain’s chair. “Difficult to say. The colony lies just east of a major fault line; there’s bound to be more earthquakes, but I can’t say exactly when without having a geologist study the planet’s tectonic plates more closely.”

“Captain, perhaps you should relay that information to the colonists.”

“Or _perhaps_ ,” came McCoy’s voice over the comm, “you should let us finish treating the wounded before we tell them all to pack their bags.”

Carol smiled and shook her head; she nearly missed the flashing light on her control panel. “Commander, sensors just picked up a ship in the planet’s atmosphere.” As she pulled up a more detailed reading, dread settled like a rock in her stomach. “Oh, no.”

Before she could share her findings, Sulu announced, “A ship just decloaked off our starboard nacelle.”

Chekov turned his chair to look at Spock with wide eyes. “Klingon Bird-of-Prey!”

Spock leaned forward. “Beam the away team up, now!”

A flash of red light overtook the viewscreen, and Carol was knocked out of her chair.

-

“What’s going on?” Kirk spoke into his communicator. “ _Enterprise_ , do you copy? Report!”

The communicator crackled to life, and Uhura’s panting voice replied, “We’re under attack! A Klingon Bird-of-Prey is closing in on—” She cut herself off with a yelp.

“Uhura! Come in, _Enterprise_!”

They wouldn’t have heard her response, not after the explosion that threw them off their feet.

-

Carol dragged herself back into the chair and took stock of the sensor readings. “The first ship is firing on the colony!”

“Uhura,” said Spock, “can you reestablish contact with the Captain?”

“Trying.” Uhura wiped away the blood from the cut on her cheek; the jolt from the second torpedo hit had caused her to smash her face against the console. “Their fire is interfering with our signal.”

“They’re coming around!” said Sulu.

“Sulu, target their engines, fire at will.”

“Aye!”

Carol kept her gaze locked on the sensor readout, watching helplessly as lifesigns all across the colony flickered and vanished. Her eyes kept drifting back to the little blue dot labeled “McCoy.”

-

The Bird-of-Prey hovered in the sky. Looking at it, McCoy didn’t think of eagles or falcons; it reminded him more of a dragon out of legend, teeth and claws and leathery wings. They’d stopped firing, but figures descended on ropes out of the ship’s belly. What had before been impersonal explosions was about to turn intimately bloody.

Kirk yelled above the din of screams and crumbling buildings, “Do you have any underground shelters?”

The leader of the colonists shook his head. “They all caved in during the earthquake!”

Kirk cursed and called to McCoy and Rollins, the remaining security officer, “Let’s get them inside!”

They started grabbing people, pulling them up, pushing them towards the nearest shelter. The wounded were carried by their fellow colonists. The screaming was not far off now.

Kirk positioned himself behind the remains of a wall, his phaser at the ready. “You two, get inside. Try to reestablish contact with the _Enterprise_. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

McCoy pulled his own phaser out with a scowl. “If you think we’re leaving you to face a bunch of angry Klingons by yourself, you’re out of your damned mind.”

He threw a smirk over his shoulder. “Bones, you’re a doctor, not a marksman.”

McCoy crouched next to Kirk, while Rollins knelt at the captain’s other side. “Hey, my hand-eye coordination is top notch. Steadiest hands on the ship, remember?”

The Bird-of-Prey blocked the sun, and in the shadows, Kirk’s smile looked more like a grimace. McCoy’s statement was all bravado, and they both knew it. A healer has no place in a firefight; but he did have a place beside his captain, the man who had once died to save his crew. McCoy wouldn’t let him die again.

The Klingons didn’t come in firing: they had their blades out, curved daggers and multi-pointed _bat’leths_. They walked steadily, with purpose, until Kirk fired the first shot; then they all broke into a run. They brandished their weapons and roared, but still did not draw their pistols. It was blood they were after; it already dripped from their blades.

Kirk had killed three of them. McCoy shot one in the chest, and he cringed as the Klingon dropped. It was only the thought of all those who had died that kept him firing: the Trill scientists, these colonists, all three of the medical staff he’d hand-selected for this mission. Gritting his teeth, he let another Klingon fall.

The Klingons charged over the wall like an ocean wave. The first one went straight for Kirk, who took a blow to the head from the Klingon’s boot. Another warrior kicked the phaser out of McCoy’s hands and struck him across the face. He tumbled onto his back, and as he watched a Klingon slash open Rollins’s chest, he felt a blade press against his own neck.

“Drop your weapon,” said the Klingon who held his _bat’leth_ to McCoy’s throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kirk fling his phaser aside. “Our commander wishes to speak with you.”

“Good,” snapped Kirk, wiping blood from his brow. “I wanna talk to the man who decided to turn an errand of mercy into a bloodbath.”

They yanked McCoy to his feet and shoved him forward with the blunt edge of the _bat’leth_. He was still blinking the stars from his eyes when he heard one of the Klingons issue an order in their language. No matter how much McCoy blinked, he couldn’t get rid of the lights in his eyes, until finally he realized those were the lights of a transporter.

-

The _Enterprise_ shuddered in the aftershock of the explosion. “We got ‘em,” Sulu declared.

“Status of the remaining ship?”

“Commander!” Carol turned to Spock, her eyes wide and desperate. “Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy were just beamed aboard the Bird-of-Prey at the surface!”

Spock stood slowly. “Are they alive?”

She turned back to the console, scanning, for all the good it did. “Yes, for now.”

Spock whirled around to face the viewscreen. “Plot a course to intercept.”

“Sir,” said Chekov, “the ship has left the atmos—ah, they’ve gone to warp!”

“Pursuit course!”

“Sir—they are heading straight for the Neutral Zone!”

“Understood.” Carol could hear in his voice his clenched teeth, his cold fury. “Maximum warp.”

No one objected.

-

Kirk and McCoy were marched through the cramped corridors to the Bird-of-Prey’s bridge. One of the Klingons spoke to a man who stood with his back to them, a tall figure with slick brown hair pulled back in a long braid.

Kirk didn’t wait to be acknowledged. “You have violated the Neutral Zone treaty and committed an act of terrorism against a defenseless planet. I’d better hear a damned good reason for it.”

“James Tiberius Kirk,” said the commander slowly. He turned to face them, and his eyes crinkled in a smile. “I have so wanted to meet you, Captain.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If that last line sounds familiar, then you probably already know who the Klingon commander is. If not, you'll find out next chapter. c:
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for the comments/kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there's anyone reading who hasn't seen Star Trek VI, I just want to let you know that the Klingon commander is /not/ an original character, and also that you should definitely watch The Undiscovered Country. :)

Kirk stood with his back straight, taking no notice of the blood that poured down his face even as it dripped over his eye. “It’s usually polite for the host to introduce himself.”

“Ah, my apologies, Captain. I am Commander Chang of the Fifth Imperial Klingon Fleet.” He looked at McCoy for the first time. “And you must be Mr. Leonard McCoy.”

McCoy rolled his shoulders back. “I didn’t go through eight years of medical school to be called ‘mister’.”

Chang gave him a genial laugh. “Forgive me, _Doctor_. We do not carry physicians onboard our warships. You are a bit of a foreign concept to us.”

“Right, I suppose you just let the sick suffer and die.”

“Of course! That is nature’s will: the weak will die in favor of the strong.”

McCoy snorted. “And all compassion gets bred out of you.”

Chang clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. “Gentlemen, I am disappointed. Is it not one of Starfleet’s missions to seek out and understand new lifeforms? Yet here, with the opportunity before you, you simply dismiss us as barbarians.”

Kirk met his gaze steadily. “I just watched your men murder unarmed civilians and five of my crewmembers. Right now the description seems pretty damned appropriate.”

“I merely wished to convince you of my sincerity. I take my work very seriously, you know.”

“Really. And what sort of work is that?”

“Ensuring the survival of our Empire.”

“I didn’t realize the Empire was in any danger.”

“Then I suppose Starfleet intelligence is not as pervasive as some would believe.”

“Looks like your intelligence is on top of things. You’ve obviously done a lot of research on my ship.”

Chang stopped in front of Kirk. He was only slightly taller than the captain, but the pointed leather shoulders made him seem quite broad and bulky. McCoy wasn’t fooled, though; he could estimate Chang’s frame well enough. Though big compared to a human (as all Klingons were), he was still smaller than most of his crewmen. “Every Klingon warrior has studied your ship, Captain, and every Klingon warrior has studied you: a hero among his people!”

“I’m flattered. How long were you following us?”

“Ever since you came across Azron Joral’s vessel.” He gave McCoy a sly smile. “Joral and I had a bit of a falling out, I’m afraid. He had expressed a willingness to aid us with our planet’s current predicament. You see, the atmosphere of Kronos has been poisoned by the decay of our moon, Praxis. Joral claimed he could manufacture a device to reverse the radiation.

“But when we asked for the details of his research, he had a change of heart! He didn’t seem to _trust_ us with the information. And when I tried to persuade him, he wrecked his computer and killed himself in a show of utter spite.”

“That’s a funny way of looking at it. He seemed to think you were going to turn his research into a weapon.”

Chang stopped pacing and tilted his head to regard Kirk curiously. “And here I thought we had left no survivors.”

Kirk didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t worry, you didn’t.”

“And yet you claim to know Joral’s thoughts. Tell me, Captain: Did your science officers happen to recover any data from Joral’s computer?”

“We didn’t recover anything.”

“Captain, I thought you to be a man of honor. You do not need to hide behind lies. I assure you, I will discover the information I seek, whether you are willing or not.”

“You’d be wasting your time, Commander. We’re not physicists—even if we did know anything about Joral’s research, we couldn’t tell you how it works. No amount of torture is going to change that.”

“Ah, yes. But you have among your crew a very clever Vulcan, as well as a physicist whose father crafted many advanced weapons for Starfleet. I am confident in their abilities to piece together what Joral left behind. And once we have arrested them for crossing into our territory, I am certain we can extract the information we need.”

McCoy clenched his fists at his sides, and he was only held back from speaking when he saw how calmly Kirk shrugged and said, “I’m sure you know from your research of our ship that that very same Vulcan is now in command of the _Enterprise_ , and no Vulcan is going to risk the safety of an entire ship to rescue two men. Just wouldn’t be logical.”

Chang raised an eyebrow, looking positively delighted. “Is that so?” He gestured to one of his crewmen. “Switch to aft view, maximum magnification.” The viewscreen shifted to show, framed by fleeing stars, the _Enterprise_ in hot pursuit.

Kirk’s stony expression flickered when he narrowed his eyes in a movement so brief that McCoy almost missed it; but he recovered quickly. “If he can’t catch up to you by the time you reach the Neutral Zone, he’ll turn back and go for help.”

This earned him a laugh from Chang. His words were genial, his manner polite; but there was nothing warm in that smile. “You have such faith in the logic of your second-in-command. We shall see if it pays off.”

“And even if they did cross the Neutral Zone,” said McCoy hotly, “they’d just be returning the favor you gave us, after you attacked a Federation ship and a Federation colony in _Federation space_.”

Chang whirled around to bring his face close to McCoy’s, a fire burning in his eyes. “But it was _you_ who incited us! One year ago, did the _Enterprise_ not invade our territory, attack our men? Were you not so brazen as to dispatch your soldiers to Kronos itself? Will your peace-loving Federation dare to deny this incursion?”

McCoy pursed his lips and made no reply, wishing suddenly that he’d kept his damned mouth shut. Doubt clenched at his chest; maybe it was too much to hope for help from Starfleet. And if help did arrive, if the entire fleet came to the door of the Klingon Empire, could McCoy live with what would surely follow? Could he stand to be the spark that finally ignited the war that all the cynics of the galaxy were expecting?

Worse yet—what if Kirk was wrong about Spock? McCoy remembered the storm that had raged on Spock’s face after he’d brought Khan’s body back to the _Enterprise_ , when he’d gazed at Kirk’s lifeless body. It was one thing to see a human get angry: humans were all emotion; they were comfortable with it, they embraced it, it was perfectly natural to them. It was another thing entirely to see fury on the face of a creature who had spent all his life repressing it. Seeing Spock let loose his anger was like watching the eruption of a star, and no one could incite that anger like Jim Kirk.

McCoy had no doubt that Spock would follow them—would follow Kirk—to the edge of the galaxy. And he’d bring Carol with him; Carol, who had unlocked the secrets of Joral’s experiment. And if Chang captured the _Enterprise_ , he’d find Carol and drag that information out of her however he could.

It was only Kirk’s steady presence beside him that let McCoy hold his panic in check. He wasn’t about to drag his captain down.

“But that’s enough talk for now,” said Chang, as if he’d flipped a switch to bury his prior dramatics. “You may not have what I need hidden in your brain; but a Starfleet captain no doubt has other information that would be useful to the Empire.” He laughed. “And I admit, I am a bit rusty with my torture techniques, and it would be good for me to brush up. I’m sure the Vulcan will not break easily—nor, I hope, will you, Captain.”

Kirk did not break his gaze from Chang’s; his brows drew together even as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Then it’s like you Klingons say: ‘ _Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam_.’”

Chang shook his head slowly, smiling with admiration. “I am thrilled to see you live up to your reputation, Captain.”

As the Klingon crewmen led them off the bridge, McCoy whispered to Kirk, “What the hell did you say to him?”

Kirk lifted his chin with a humorless smile. “‘ _Today is a good day to die_.’”

McCoy gave an exasperated sigh. “I sure as hell hope not.”

-

“The good news is,” said Sulu, “they’re not heading for Kronos.”

“So what’s the bad news?” asked Scotty.

Chekov replied, “They seem to be going towards H’atoria, which is a planet deep in Klingon territory.”

The senior staff was gathered around the table in the conference room—a facility that saw little use under Kirk’s command. When the captain wanted to confer with his officers, he usually did so from the bridge, so he didn’t have to bother pulling his officers from their stations, or pulling himself from the chair. But Spock was the captain now, and so the discussion of their next move would be done in the conference room. Carol was there in her temporary capacity as Chief Science Officer, while Nurse Chapel represented the medical team in McCoy’s absence.

Spock was the only one standing. He gazed out the window with his hands behind his back. Stars rushed past as the ship journeyed ever deeper into the Neutral Zone. “At our current speed, when will we pass through the Neutral Zone to enter Klingon space?”

“Less than an hour,” Sulu answered grimly.

“If we do enter Klingon space,” said Carol, addressing the issue that hung over the room, “we are well within our right. They invaded our territory first, they took our people hostage and murdered innocent civilians—why _shouldn’t_ we go after them?”

“The Klingons won’t see it that way,” Uhura responded, looking none too pleased at the fact. “As far as they’re concerned, the captain and Doctor McCoy are spoils of war. There’s no negotiation: the only way to get them back is to fight.”

“Even if we do follow them all the way to this… whatever planet they’re going to,” said Scotty, “we’re one ship against the entire Klingon armada! The _Enterprise_ was designed for exploration; she can put up a good fight, but it’s not what she was built for. Klingon ships are built for nothing _but_ combat.” He looked to Spock. “Shouldn’t we at least wait for a response from Starfleet?”

Spock turned slowly away from the window. His head hung low, but his shoulders were stiff, his back rigid; he looked like a caged animal. “I have already received a response from Starfleet. We are the only combat capable ship in this sector.” He raised his head. “They said the abduction of Federation citizens is to be considered an act of extreme provocation, to which we may respond in kind. Negotiations are underway, but we have no idea of how long they intend to keep the hostages alive. A rescue may be attempted at the commanding officer’s discretion.”

Carol slumped in her chair. They weren’t leaving the captain—they weren’t leaving Leonard—at the mercy of the Klingons. But the relief she felt was soon choked out of her by the words ringing through her head, the specter’s voice roaring from the past, _War is coming!_

Christine wrapped her arms around herself, how she usually reacted when she shuddered. “But we’re still just one ship. How do they expect us to pull off a rescue mission in enemy territory?”

A chemical equation flashed through Carol’s mind. She was having a hard time getting them out of her head, ever since she’d begun studying Joral’s experiment.

“What about this planet?” asked Uhura. “H’atoria—is it inhabited?”

Sulu replied, “Not by civilians. It’s a military base, where they train ground troops. There’s rarely any presence of the fleet, but with all the warriors living there, a ground assault would be impossible.”

Carol changed a molecule here and there. The equation shifted before her mind’s eye, twisted into something horrible and desperate. It was wrong. It was not at all what Joral had intended.

“—took a mighty beating in that attack, I cannae push her much further!”

With a shake of her head, she pulled herself back to the present, to Scotty responding to Spock’s inquiry about increasing the output of the warp drive. “Still, you will make the attempt, to its safest extent. In the meantime, we will all try to devise a more solid rescue plan. Maintain red alert. We will carry on with the assumption that we will, in less than an hour, be entering Klingon space. Dismissed.”

Carol stood with the rest of them, but as they filtered out of the room, she kept her place, her fingers resting atop the table. Noticing her hesitance, Spock stayed behind with her as the door shut, leaving them alone. “Doctor Marcus?”

“Sir.” She lifted her head and hoped the fear was not so evident on her face. “I think I have a possible solution.”

Spock faced her fully. “Proceed.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but it took two tries before she could dislodge the words from her throat. “Joral’s experiment… he hypothesized that he could alter the chemical structure of a planet’s atmosphere. He had intended to use it eliminate radiation and air pollution. I’ve already figured out how to complete the matrix he’d designed, but… there may be a way to…” Her breath hitched.

Spock finished the thought so that she wouldn’t have to say the words aloud: “You believe the matrix could be altered to function as a chemical weapon.”

It was like he had loosed in one blow the dam she had been chipping away, and the words tumbled out of her. “It would have to be done in a way that wouldn’t harm Kirk or McCoy, and I would have to arm the device manually—if we could find some chemical that harms Klingons and not humans, or some poisonous gas that we can inoculate against—” Once again, her brain sought to choke her voice, to stop this idea from taking root. She took a deep breath. “It could be considered as a last resort.”

It was harder than ever to read his expression. He didn’t speak for a long moment, and when he did, his voice was slow and cautious. “I will put all our resources and personnel at your disposal, Doctor. Design this matrix—as a last resort.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this one! I've had various unpleasant things going on IRL--nothing serious, but enough to keep me occupied. I've also, after some thought, decided that I don't like how suddenly Bones and Carol's relationship progressed in the beginning of the story. Considering where I want the fic to end up, I'm going to need to make some changes--namely, that it should be a recently-established-relationship? So I'll be tweaking the first three chapters pretty soon to reflect that. The lesson here being: I should never post a chapter-length story before it's actually finished.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! I really appreciate everyone who's stuck around so far; your kudos/feedback totally makes my day!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! I recently started a new job, and then I got hit with some IRL difficulties; but everything's getting back to normal now, so I think I'll be able to focus more on writing. Thank you all for your patience, and for the comments/kudos! I really appreciate you guys sticking around. ♥

-

There was only one holding cell, containing three metal slabs that could laughingly be called beds. Kirk sat opposite McCoy with his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the wall. Whether he was planning an escape or mentally preparing himself for the torture Chang had promised, McCoy couldn’t tell.

McCoy sat forward with his elbows on his knees, cracking his knuckles and glancing sidelong at the door beyond the invisible force field. Chang hadn’t even bothered to leave them guarded. Kirk had already done a thorough investigation of their prison cell (it hadn’t taken very long): no vents, no instrument panels, nothing that could be pried from the walls or floors to use as tools. They had no idea where they were headed, or whether the _Enterprise_ still followed them.

The silence got to be too much for McCoy. “Well? Any bright ideas?”

Kirk’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh, I dunno. I was just taking a nap.”

“Smartass,” McCoy muttered. He sat back and drew one leg up to his chest. “Tell me something: Have you been taking Klingon lessons from Uhura?”

Kirk stared at the ceiling and shrugged. “I learned some basic phrases back in the Academy. Uhura just helped me pronunciation.”

“You were learning Klingon at the Academy?”

“ _Influential Species of the Beta Quadrant_. It was a required course for the command track—mostly for the information on Klingon society.”

“I don’t suppose it gave you any insight on escaping from a Klingon ship.”

“I’m working on it. But they do outnumber us twelve to one.”

The door opened, and two Klingons entered. “It is time,” one of them declared.

Kirk slowly stood and faced them, McCoy following suit. _Influential Species of the Beta Quadrant_ had not been a required course for Starfleet Medical cadets, but McCoy found himself wishing he’d taken it anyway. Maybe it would’ve given him information on Klingon torture methods and how to recover from them. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Kirk fold his arms over his chest. That big lummox had no sense of self-preservation, no fear for his own sake. Or maybe he did, and he just kept it buried beneath an arrogant smile crafted specially for these Klingons. “All right. Let’s go.”

“Not you.” The Klingon pointed his disrupter pistol at McCoy. “Just him.”

_There_ , McCoy thought as Kirk whipped his head around to look at him, all pretense gone from his face. _Now we see the fear. He’ll only use it on someone else._

“Hang on,” said Kirk in a rush, holding up as hand as if to block McCoy from them. “He’s a doctor, he doesn’t have anything you need.”

“Commander Chang seems to think that he does.” The Klingon raised the pistol so it was level with McCoy’s chest. “And if you think he’s of no use to us, perhaps we should just kill him now.”

“No! But I’m way more useful, I—”

“Jim.” McCoy took hold of Kirk’s elbow, squeezing, guiding him away from the Klingons, as he would guide him over to a medical bed for some long-overdue physical. “It’s gonna be fine.” He turned away before Kirk could see any fear on his face. He had to at least pretend to be calm, to prevent Kirk from doing whatever reckless move he was liable to try.

McCoy said over his shoulder, “Besides, I’m sure they’ll give you a chance later.”

They led him a short distance down the corridor to a small room lit by a single light hanging above a table. Commander Chang was waiting for him. “Ah, Doctor McCoy. Please, have a seat.”

McCoy sat in the chair across from Chang. The room contained only two chairs and the table; there were no torture devices that McCoy could see. He didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

A Klingon entered and set a large metal mug in front of Chang. “Raktajino, Doctor?”

McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

“A drink, a bit like your Terran coffee, I believe.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Even assuming they wouldn’t poison him, the last thing he needed was to be pumped full of caffeine, or whatever the Klingon equivalent was. “So, how can I help you, Commander?”

“I thought we could have a little chat.”

“Sure, why not? How’s the weather on Kronos this time of year?”

“Rather dismal, all things considered.”

“Right.” McCoy had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “My condolences. I’d probably have more sympathy for you if you hadn’t captured us and murdered innocent people.”

“Now, Doctor, can you really judge an entire race by the actions of one group of warriors?”

“What, you’re saying you’re the worst of the bunch? Just one bad batch?”

“Every society needs someone who is willing to do what others cannot, someone who will get his hands dirty so that others may stay clean. You think your Federation is any different?”

McCoy clenched his fists, his jaws, trying to brace himself against the shudder that raced through him. Because he knew Chang was right. He’d seen the man who’d taken it upon himself to bloody his hands for the sake of the Federation. But he didn’t want Chang to know that he’d struck a nerve, so he lifted his chin and looked away. “I guess you figured that from your ‘research,’ huh?”

“Spoken with such disdain!” Chang threw his hands up and laughed. “First I am a barbarian, now I am overly-studious. Which is it, Doctor?”

He shrugged. “Can’t you be both?”

Chang leaned forward and locked his hands together on the table. His sharp cranial ridges emphasized the sudden severity of his expression, giving a sinister edge to every smile and frown. “Why do you have such hatred for my people, Doctor?”

“I don’t.”

One corner of Chang’s lips twisted upward. “Come now. Are you saying those foul looks you give me and my men are not indicative of hatred?”

“Considering you abducted us after killing our crewmates, I think I’m allowed to give you some dirty looks.”

“But it’s not just me, is it? You feel this way about _all_ Klingons! You feel this way about any species that does not fit your human mold. If the Federation had its way, all the galaxy would be populated by human minds and human philosophies!”

“That’s not true! And if you really think that, then you don’t know anything about us. The Federation isn’t even all human, you know—it’s a joint effort, the Vulcans—”

“Vulcans!” Chang barked, standing so quickly that his chair fell backwards. “Your intellectual lapdogs! I wonder if they had any idea of what they were getting themselves into when they landed on Earth all those years ago, when they brought you humans into the worlds beyond.” He placed his hands on the table and brought his face close to McCoy’s. His voice lowered, but lost none of its edge. “You think yourselves more civilized than us—perhaps you should take a closer look at the violence inherent in your own species. Humans conquer and destroy with all the glee of young gods who’ve not yet seen their own fallibility. Are you really so willfully ignorant?”

“Every species has parts of their history that they aren’t proud of, that doesn’t mean—”

“I’m not talking about _history_ , Doctor! Only last year, you invaded Kronos and slaughtered dozens of Klingons—for what? The thrill of the hunt? To prove your superiority?”

McCoy gripped the armrests of his chair. “We were arresting a fugitive. The man was just as much a danger to you as he was to us!”

“So you took it upon yourselves to violate our territory to carry out your own bloody justice! Is this basic human arrogance, or was it only to satisfy the ego of your captain?”

McCoy slammed his hands down onto the table and jumped to his feet. “The captain—”

“Broke interstellar law when he crossed the Neutral Zone, did he not? How many other laws has he disregarded in his arrogance?”

It wasn’t the first time someone had criticized Jim Kirk; hell, McCoy had done it plenty of times himself. He listened to Spock do it just about every day. But they knew Kirk, knew what he’d been through, what he’d sacrificed. This Klingon didn’t know a damned thing. “You’re right—he broke the rules, and he saved millions of lives!”

“Federation lives! The only lives Starfleet cares about! The rest of the galaxy could burn, and your captain would not raise so bold a finger to help!”

“Khan wouldn’t have stopped with the Federation, dammit, he would’ve taken over the whole galaxy if we’d let him! He didn’t have any problems wiping out your soldiers, remember?”

Chang stood straight, a slow smile spreading over his face. “I see. That will be all for today, Doctor McCoy.”

He snapped his fingers, and McCoy felt two pairs of hands seize his arms and drag him from the table. They kept their iron grip on him, walking too quickly for him to keep his feet in step. Maybe now, he thought, was when the real torture would start.

But they only took him back to his cell. Fear twisted his stomach when he saw the cell was empty.

Before he could ask what they’d done to Kirk, he heard grunting and dragging behind him. He turned in time to see a pair of Klingons throw Kirk to the floor at McCoy’s feet.

“Jim!” McCoy knelt beside him. Kirk’s nose was bleeding, and he had the beginnings of a black eye, among many other cuts and bruises—and that was just on his face.

Looking up, he saw Chang standing before the cell, watching them with a smile. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“We merely tested his abilities in hand-to-hand combat against my warriors.”

Even as McCoy checked him for broken ribs, Kirk dragged himself upright. “Yeah,” he grunted, “and I got off some pretty good shots myself.” He nodded at one Klingon, who had a nasty welt on his left cheek.

McCoy shook his head. “Too bad for them. No physicians on board—because the Commander here doesn’t care about his crew’s well-being.”

“You truly think that, Doctor? Could it not be instead that I trust my warriors to be strong? ‘ _We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother._ ’ That is the Klingon way.”

“And what’s the _point_ of the bloodshed?” McCoy snapped.

“To test your character. Yours and your captain’s.”

Kirk snorted. “I think you need to read that play again. I’ll be damned if you can pull a nice quote and pretend you’re King Henry V. He was facing a strong enemy and a hopeless battle; and I’d say you’re looking pretty strong right now.” As Chang’s eyes widened with his smile, Kirk continued with a curl of his bloody lip, “You’re not the only one who reads Shakespeare, Commander.”

Chang laughed. “Indeed, Captain. You have taught me much today.”

As Chang left with his soldiers, McCoy dragged Kirk up onto one of the beds. “I gotta say, Jim—I’m impressed.”

“What, that I can hold my own against a group of Klingons?”

“No, that a Klingon can recite Shakespeare from memory.”

Grinning through the blood and bruises, he looked a lot like that beat-up kid McCoy had met on the shuttle five years ago. “Man, can’t you be impressed with me for recognizing a quote from _Henry V_?”

Despite the mess on Kirk’s face, the mess they were in, McCoy found himself laughing. “And here I thought those books in your room were just for show.”

-

“What am I doing here?” Christine asked as she looked around the lab. “I don’t know the first thing about weaponry.”

Carol was in the middle of calculating the area-of-effect of Joral’s altered matrix and didn’t acknowledge her friend’s question. Christine spoke again, “Seriously, I just barely passed Starfleet’s phaser proficiency exam, and it took me three tries. I’m no weapon specialist.”

“I don’t need a weapon specialist,” replied Carol, “I need someone who knows how a carbon-based lifeform will respond when exposed to various chemicals. Meaning, I need a doctor.”

“Meaning, you need someone who knows how to poison a Klingon.”

Carol had finished the calculation, but she continued to stare at the computer screen, to avoid meeting Christine’s gaze. “I know you dealt with Klingons in the outer frontier, so I thought you might have some insight into their anatomy and how best to… but look, if you’re not comfortable with it, I completely understand.”

“That’s not what I—” Christine stopped herself with a sigh. She leaned to the side so that she blocked the computer screen, forcing Carol to look at her. “I’m _not_ comfortable with it, no. But if you and Commander Spock honestly think this is the best way to get them back…” She seemed to search Carol’s face for the answer. “Don’t you think it would be better if we just waited for Starfleet to send help?”

“Help might come too late. For all we know, they’re already—” The word lodged in her throat. “I don’t like it either,” she said softly, “but it may be our only chance to save them. Will you help?”

Christine put her hands on her hips. “I’ll look through the databanks, see if there’s anything that will hurt a Klingon but not a human. Failing that, something we can inoculate against.”

“It needs to be something airborne.”

She nodded. “I’ll come by tonight to let you know what I find. Will you be here?”

“Yes. I’ll be working all night. I’m designing the casing for the weapon, and I’ll have to construct it in pieces. It’ll take several hours.”

“Well, don’t strain yourself, all right?”

Carol forced a smile. “No promises, Doctor.”

-

Christine came to the lab again, as promised, and it was only by standing up straight and lifting her head that Carol realized how her whole body ached. She hadn’t glanced at the chronometer all day, and the passage of the stars outside told her nothing of the time. 

Christine raised her brows as she surveyed the pieces of metal scattered over three worktables. “You’ve gotten a lot done.”

Carol leaned her shoulders back a bit to alleviate the tension in her muscles; she tried to be subtle about it, but the resounding _crack_ of her tendons nixed that attempt. “Did you find anything?”

Her brows drew together as looked down at the PADD clutched to her chest. “I did.”

“And?”

“It’ll work, but it won’t be pretty.” She handed the PADD over, and as Carol read, Christine explained, “Viridium Four. It’s an airborne contaminant. It affects the heart, causes severe increase in blood pressure resulting in epistaxis and aneurysms and, ultimately, death.”

“Epistaxis…” Carol frowned in thought. “Nosebleeds?”

“That’s right. Once it’s inhaled, a human would have about ten to fifteen minutes before the effects become fatal—but Klingons have a much lower resistance. The effects are almost instantaneous for them.”

Carol nodded slowly, still reading through the specifics of the poison. It would serve her purpose frighteningly well. “So we’d have ten minutes to reach the captain and Doctor McCoy.”

“Right. There would be a few complications, though: It has an antidote, but it only works for about twenty minutes. You’d need a higher dosage after that. And another thing—the antidote works on humans and Klingons and a few other species, but it has no effect in Vulcans.”

“I guess Mr. Spock won’t be joining me, then.”

Christine’s eyes widened. “Carol, you’re not actually going there yourself, are you?”

“Who else could do it? I’m building the weapon myself. It only makes sense for me to be the one there to arm it.”

“Can’t you teach someone else? One of the security officers, or… I don’t know, anyone else who’s more experienced with combat?”

“I’m a weapons specialist—I’m _the_ weapons specialist on board this ship! I’m the best person for the job! And besides, it’s better that I’m the only one who knows the specifics of this device.”

Christine jabbed a finger at Carol and cried, “You see? Even _you_ think this is a terrible idea! Otherwise you wouldn’t want to keep all the details a secret!”

Carol marched forward until she was nose-to-nose with Christine, her eyes wide and desperate. “What else am I supposed to do? Let them die? How am I supposed to live with myself if I won’t even _try_ to save them?”

Her shoulders slumping, Christine seemed to deflate. Her voice was gentle when she spoke again, “I just… I worry about you. I worry you won’t be able to live with yourself regardless of the outcome.”

Carol took a shuddering breath and looked away. “I know. And I appreciate your concern, but this is the only way. Even Spock thinks so. He approved the plan.”

“Commander Spock…” Christine sounded like she was choosing her words carefully. “He seems like he has a bit of a blind spot when it comes to the captain. I mean, we all do, but Spock… I guess after—after what happened…”

She trailed off, but she didn’t need to say anything more for Carol to understand her meaning. The entire crew had become a bit protective of Kirk, and Spock in particular was loath to let the captain out of his sight for prolonged periods, after _what happened_. Christine was kind enough not to use plain words when referring to _what happened_ ; most of the crew was the same. In Carol’s presence, they never spoke explicitly about the time when her father had gotten Kirk killed.

Her father, who had suggested she go into weapons technology. Maybe she could blame this terrible weapon on him, could say that it was his ghost that had planted the idea in her head—it would be so much easier to blame it on him. But there was no need. She’d managed to think it up all on her own. She’d face whatever consequences, whatever nightmares her conscience would throw at her, if it meant she could bring Leonard back to her side.

She seemed to have developed a blind spot of her own.

Carol was quiet for a long time before Christine finally broke the silence. “It’s getting late. Have you eaten dinner?”

“Yes,” Carol replied immediately. When she lied, she had to do it quickly. Christine would’ve caught any hesitance.

“You’re going to bed soon, right?” Christine’s voice had all the severity of a physician who did not take kindly to uncooperative patients.

Carol said softly, “I have a lot of work to do.” When she could still feel Christine’s stern gaze upon her, she spoke again: “I need to finish this as soon as possible.”

“I could order you to bed.”

Carol looked up at her with an apologetic shake of her head. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

Christine gave a resigned sigh. “All right, just…” She put her hand on Carol’s arm and squeezed gently. “Take care of yourself.”

As she walked away, Carol returned to her equations.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I couldn't write Chang without the gratuitous Shakespeare quotes! Also, TOS!Kirk is well-versed in literary classics, and I like to think that reboot!Kirk is a big reader as well.
> 
> After the feedback I got re: the development of Bones and Carol's relationship, I've decided to just keep things as they are for now. I still might make some changes, but it won't be until after the fic is completed.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
